


Sunshowers

by Paradelle



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor is not a detective, Cussing, Depressed Hank Anderson, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Grumpy Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No Smut, Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Warnings May Change, i will take a hammer and fix the canon, lots of cussing, nurse!connor, the entire story is from Hank's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-06-08 18:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15249018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradelle/pseuds/Paradelle
Summary: Sunshowers (n.) - a meteorological phenomenon in which rain falls while the sun is shining.Hank Anderson had been spiraling into a depression ever since the death of his son.  Without much to live for, he found himself losing touch with reality.  Every day he destroyed small parts of himself, bits and pieces crumbling apart.  Then, after a failed suicide attempt, there was nothing left.That is until a certain android sent by CyberLife turns up at his front door.Between humans and androids, Hank and Connor discover they are connected in more ways than one, and only together can they learn to feel alive.





	1. Welcome Home, Hank

Hank was having that type of morning he could only describe as fucking hell, but even that would be an understatement. Bedridden, cold, and not daring to complain to the ex-military nurses, Hank stared blankly ahead at the off-white, unadorned walls, their ghostly color making his nausea go for a spin. Horrible sobbing was heard from the bed beside him where a red ice addict wrapped in a thin hospital sheet was going through her first night of withdrawal. Hank clenched his eyelids, jacked up on too many meds to say or do anything. He probably wouldn’t talk to anyone here anyway. He was sick of this damned place; he felt the days get longer and longer, even if he’d only been at the psychiatric center for about a week.

When Hank had woken up in the ICU at the hospital a week ago, he was immediately overcome with fatigue, and was unable to recall much of the night before. When Officer Miller came to check up on him after his recovery, he told Hank about how he’d been picked up by an officer responding to a call about a dog barking madly into the night.

Good Sumo...

===

“You’re not well, Lt. Anderson,” Officer Miller had told him that day in the ICU, a few days after Hank had been admitted to the hospital. Miller’s officer hat was held gingerly in both hands, like he was paying his respects to a dead man. He continued speaking despite Hank’s stink-eye.

“You’re off the case, lieutenant. Detective Reed will be taking your place—”

“—Gavin?” Hank growled out. He wanted to jump up and rip himself away from all the damned machines hooked up to him. “You’re kidding. Just give me a few, I’ll be on my feet in no time, and let that cocksucker know—”

Miller sighed, raising his palm. “Lt. Anderson, Captain Fowler doesn’t want you coming back, at least not until you get better.”

Hank sank back into the bed, eyes opened wider in shock, unable to grasp what Miller had said. Here he was, wasting away in sickness and self-pity, only to be kicked to the curb? After all their time spent together in the academy, Hank thought he knew Captain Fowler, at least more so than this backstabbing. And if he were honest, showing up was the only thing that kept him drinking less than he would otherwise; showing up kept him sober.

“I’m fine,” Hank said, crossing his arms to feel secure as he could despite the revealing and loose-fitting hospital gown. “I’m fit for work. There's no need to throw me aside.”

Miller stood up from the hospital chair, straightening out his uniform and badge before fitting on his hat.

“We’re not talking about being physically fit for work, Lt. Anderson,” Miller said, sighing and looking down on the man before him. Hank knew he was a mess; his beard probably had traces of vomit in it, and his eyes were so sunken, there were shadows casted across his entire face. Miller sighed again, this time more resigned, before continuing, “He wants you to get better. We all do.”

Hank scoffed. “Well, forget the ‘Get well soon!’ card! The only thing ol’ Jeff ever wanted for me was a slap on the wrist for every time I got a writin’ up.”

Miller only stared, eyes sort of pitying, before making his way for the door.

“Bye, lieutenant. I hope you find the help you need.”

“And I hope Jeffery finds a better personality!” Hank barked back, but the door had already closed.

===

When the nurse had finally come into his ward and told him of his release, he could barely restrain himself from running to the door and far away from there. The place was suffocating; the two things Hank hated most, red ice addicts and androids, were literally everywhere.

The nurse in front of him was absentmindedly flipping through Hank’s discharge paperwork and information while Hank fiddled with a pen, clicking it obsessively.

“This,” the nurse started, sliding the document over to Hank across the desk, “is the discharge plan, stating you are ready to move on to another level of care, one without staff supervision.”

Hank had already read it (more like skimmed it), approved of the required medication, and the periodic checkups he would be receiving. They could come to his house once a week to beat him into a bloody pulp for all he cared, he just wanted out. His hands twitched, eyes beckoning the documents closer so he could finally sign.

“However,” the nurse began, drawing Hank’s full attention, “there is another... condition that you must follow due to being let out so soon.”

“I don’t care whatever the hell the condition is, just give me the goddamned paperwork to sign so we can get this over with.” Hank shifted in the hospital chair; as uncomfortable as it was, it still beat the bug-infested beds.

The nurse sighed, putting his hand on his chin. An awkward silence ensued as the nurse mulled over the best way to phrase his next sentence.

Finally, he said haltingly, “One of our… people are going to accompany you home to ensure you are safe and keeping up with your health.”

Hank’s mouth hung open. He was at a loss for words. Someone would be staying in the same house as him. Where would the person sleep? Would he need to buy twice as much food, or would expenses be taken care of? This all seemed… new for the hospital, or at least it was new to Hank.

Hank’s face must have revealed how lost he felt, because the nurse pushed a few documents his way. In bold, blue letters, the title caught his eye.

**CyberLife**

Hank growled. He didn’t know where this was heading, but he knew it couldn’t be good. He curled his fists.

Oblivious to the furious rage in Hank’s body language, the nurse continued, “CyberLife was very generous in donating a—”

“No, no, no no no—”

“—uh, a prototype, who will be able to—”

“—fuck this! Fuck you!”

Hank was standing now, his fists clenched white and eyes boring into the nurse. Memories began flashing through Hank’s mind, as déjà vu began pouring over him. He remembers this scene; yelling at the doctors, at the hospital, at himself.

“It specializes in the care of patients like you—”

“I said,” Hank slammed his fist on the table, causing the mechanical pens to shiver in their hospital themed mug, “forget it!”

Silence. The nurse’s eyes narrowed. The only sound was the old analog clock ticking away, hands ticking towards Hank’s release.

“I’m afraid there is no negotiating. You need to accept these terms, or else we will need to hold you here until our… human personnel deem you ready for discharge.” The nurse sounded cooler, still glaring, but maintaining a calm disposition.

Groaning, Hank fell back into the chair.

“Oh, so you’re holding me hostage?” Hank asked.

“No, we’re not keeping you here against your will. This is all your decision.”

The nurse kindly pushed the documents towards him. Was his freedom really worth this? He supposed that it wouldn’t be forever, and he’d rather be out sooner than later, even if that meant being babysat by a machine. Hell, he could probably give the android the slip then run for it.

Eh, probably not.

Hank sighed, reaching for the pen. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

 

===

Hank was having second thoughts.

Mere hours after being put through the dreadful process of escaping the ward, he was back into civilian clothes and waiting on a taxi to take him home. It was a crisp, cool day in Detroit. The wind had picked up since morning, causing Hank to shiver in his hoodie on the sidewalk. Nestling further into his hood, he tugged at the drawstrings, tightening the hood around his head. Sirens echoed somewhere in the city. Another crime, another call, another lead gone cold. He was already missing the thrill that the DCPD brought him.

The taxi home was… relaxing. He sunk into the seats, AC blasting hot air onto his face and the seat warmers turned to max. One last moment of reprieve, before his life would go back to being shit.

When the taxi rolled into his neighborhood, Hank was almost disappointed in how normal everything seemed. The same neighbors taking evening walks. The same androids making deliveries and doing various tasks. His house was the same too. Nothing had changed.

Hank stumbled out of the taxi and began the long, terrifying walk back to his house. Of course it was the same, the only thing that had changed was him. How stupid was he to think otherwise? He kept his head low while walking up do his door and inserting the key. He couldn’t wait to see his dog, Sumo, again. He heard the neighbors had taken care of him when he had… gone away. He mentally reminded himself to repay them later.

As the door swung open, his dark silhouette stretched across his living room and over a somber figure sleeping on the wood floor. Hearing him enter, Sumo immediately perked up. He barked as he started to clamber all over Hank, pushing him to the floor and licking his face all over.

“That’s right, I’m home, boy!” Hank cried out. The dog started to whine, tail wagging at an accelerating pace. The 170 lb dog was now pinning Hank to the floor. Hank, breathing becoming laborious, tried to push him off.

“Su… Sumo, can’t—can’t breath.”

Finally, he was able to squirm out from underneath his dog. Sumo sat there, smiling happily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“God, Sumo,” Hank said, pulling the dog into his arms, hugging him tight, “I missed you, buddy.” Squeezing the saint bernard tightly in an embrace, his eyes suddenly become watery. Wracked with guilt, he started to sob into Sumo’s fur. He was a terrible owner, leaving his boy behind like that.

Then the doorbell rang.

Hank jumped to his feet, rubbing his eyes indignantly. Who the hell was at his door? He scoffed. Probably the DCPD already begging for him to come back. He knew they wouldn’t last long without him.

That wasn’t the case when he opened the door, however.

“Hello, Hank Anderson? My name is Connor, I am the—” _SLAM_

Hank shut the door so vigorously, he expected the police to come by investigating gunshots. He didn’t anticipate the android showing up right at his front door, and so soon too! He thought he’d have a little time for himself. Tired, cranky, hungry, and pissed off, Hank, to say the least, did not want to deal with this now.

Hank snarled from behind his now-locked door. “Get the fuck outta my house!”

A pause, before he heard that prissy voice pipe up from the other side of the door, “Mr. Anderson, I have orders to look after you. I cannot leave.”

“Jus’ shut up, go away! I don’ want your fuckin’ help.”

There was no response. The only sound was Sumo happily panting behind him. Hank waited, and still nothing. For a moment, he thought that the android had listened and actually left him alone. Hank knew that was wishful thinking.

He ran his hands through his grease ridden hair. He needed to shower, but he was so exhausted. He looked at his couch. The cushions were tempting him to lay down. In the end, sleep won out. He was unconscious as soon as his head hit the pillow.

===

A steady rain had begun to pick up, politely pattering against his windowpane and arousing Hank awake. He groggily adjusted his eyes to the darkness in his room. Despite physically feeling like he’d been hit by an automated bus, he felt mostly relaxed. The room had become much darker since he had passed out, signaling how long he must have slept. Let’s see… he came home around five—what time was it now?

He lifted up his watch— its screen had cracked long ago, but he’d never bothered to fix it—and checked the time.

_10:55 PM_

Yikes.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Wasn’t that android still… here? Waiting outside to be let into his house—for almost six hours. He groaned, struggling to his feet, and made his way to the door. Peering through the glass peephole in his door, he saw the stoic figure of the machine. It hadn’t even moved.

He unlocked the door and opened it sightly, hearing Sumo perk up behind him. The android suddenly started, its eyes darting to the disgruntled Hank through the crack of the door. Rain was pouring buckets behind him, though luckily the machine hadn’t been soaked standing under the porch roof.

“Do you… need something?” Hank said.

The android cocked his head to the side, eyes now peering directly through the slit. “As you know, my name is Connor. I am the android sent by CyberLife to aid you. I was donated to your local hospital as a prototype. I hope to make life easier for you.”

“They really don’t waste time, do they?” Before Connor could respond, Hank continued, “You were out here all this time? It’s fucking freezing.”

“Yes. Though don’t worry, sir. Androids don’t get cold.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

It was too realistic looking. As a detective, you begin to see more behind a person’s eyes. Fear, hope, determination...even a soul. With Connor’s eyes, he too saw the intelligence and earnestness of a human being behind them. Resigned, Hank rationalized that all that lay behind Connor’s eyes were wires and parts.

“Whatever. Just get in here, you damned machine.”

Hank backed up and opened the door, allowing the android to enter. Sumo stood right behind him, wagging his tail at the new guest.

“You have a dog?” Connor looked down at Sumo with a small smile appearing on its face, then looked back to Hank, “I like dogs.”

“Save it,” Hank said, gnashing his teeth, “don’t get all chummy with me.”

Hank started his way towards the kitchen. Damn, he was starving. Just like crummy hospital food to leave you craving something like a big, greasy burger.

Connor followed Hank into the kitchen, closely examining each small detail of the room. It looked like a lost kid trying to identify any semblance of familiarity in a new house. Hank grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, before opening the fridge. He was met with a blast of cool air. He quickly snatched up the first thing he saw: leftover chinese takeout, consisting of rice and soggy vegetables. Next to it was a pack of beer, which he eagerly grabbed as well—with this kind of day, he was going to need more than one. He stumbled towards the couch, sinking into his familiar Hank-sized indent, and began looking around for the remote. His T.V. was an older model, and still required manual control.

He heard the android timidly approach from behind before stopping near the arm rest. No words were spoken, but Hank could feel the piercing gaze of the android analyzing his every movement.

Hank shifted, scratching his leg in the process.

“So, uh, Connor,” he started, and felt the thing jump alert, “ever watch T.V.?”

Hank began to peel back the paper board container of the chinese food box, examining the white, sticky rice that clung to the limp broccoli inside. With a fork, he scooped it into his mouth, the salty flavor tasting blander when cold. He would go heat it up, but he was already seated, so why bother?

“No,” the android belatedly replied. Hank looked up at Connor, its gaze glued to the television. An old, adult-oriented cartoon was on, its vulgarity matched only by its bright colors. “This would be a first.”

It stood there like a guard dog without a hair out of line. Hank looked to his right and saw Sumo, who was in a deep slumber on the floor, chest rising in perfect rhythm. Connor continued to do… nothing. Simply in idle waiting for an order. Hank shoveled more food into his mouth, grumbling.

“Can you stop standing right behind me? Take a walk, sit down, do something! Anything other than this bullshit.” He waved his hand nonchalantly, as if dismissing it from duty.

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed, emulating thought as its LED flickered yellow, before turning around and walked back into the kitchen. Without a word, it began gathering empty bags of chips and beer bottles from the table, and transporting them to the trash can. Not a hint of emotion. Even Hank would be disgusted smelling whatever was rotting in his week old trash. Astonished yet undeterred, Hank went back to shoveling food into his mouth. He was content with being left alone, even if the android was doing his damn chores for him.

A few moments later, the android spoke up from the kitchen.

“Mr. Anderson, I’ve been examining your habits.” Rolling his eyes, Hank sank further into the couch. “More unhealthy foods reflect the mental state you’re in. For example, the high sodium content in the take-out you’re eating now, as well as the third alcoholic drink you’ve had this evening.”

Hank groaned, “Do you ever say anything not obvious?”

Connor ignored him. Ass. “I have over 100,000 recipes downloaded in my memory. I am currently narrowing down the best recipes suited to your lifestyle, schedules, and personal taste. Once ingredients have been delivered, I will begin preparing healthier options.”

“Wha—,” Hank nearly choked on his drink, the burning sensation sputtering up his throat, “I don’t need you to fucking cook for me!”

Its head cocked to the side like a curious puppy. “Why not?”

Hank’s hand hit the bridge of his nose faster than the android could process information. Just give it up, Hank thought, let the robot do its thing. Still, he didn’t need a fucking nanny. He’s fifty-three, goddamnit.

His head swiveled towards Connor. “Because I can do it myself, asshole.”

The android nodded its head thoughtfully, before flashing a half-grin towards him with a cheerful glint in its eye. Hank turned back towards the T.V, shivers trickling up his back.

“My apologies.” Its demeanor had changed to an almost mocking one. “I wasn’t aware you were capable.”

Oh, so that was the game it was playing. Hank only grumbled in response, finishing off the last of his rice. It took this as a cue to continue, beginning to pace around the kitchen.

“In fact, I’ve noticed a thick layer of dust coating your entire kitchen. You haven’t used it in months, have you?”

“Shut the hell up.”

And it did. No question, no rebuttal. Just closed its mouth at a simple command. He listened as it continued its task, cleaning up after his clutter.

“Fuckin’ androids.”

===

Hours had passed, and Connor had run out of self-inflicted tasks to complete. It had tidied, cleaned, fed Sumo, and even dusted. All while Hank sat on his ass watching old cartoons and watching Connor. He disliked the android doing so much for him without being prompted, but it was better than watch it do nothing at all. However, the place actually looked good for once, he thought, which was something he could appreciate.

But instead of standing in idle, Connor did something… unexpected. As Sumo had sauntered over to his food, Connor squatted down and began to stroke the dog’s back, fingers gliding through his fur and working through his mats and tangles. While no strong emotion presented itself on the android’s face, it looked calm. Content, almost.

Or it emulated the emotion, so Hank could be fooled into thinking that it actually found enjoyment in petting the dog, and that’s just what it’d been programmed to do to copy humans perfectly. At least Sumo was real, Hank thought, his adorable face smiling up at the android as his tail wagged vigorously.

Hank had finally grown sick of watching Connor look for things to do, so he called him over.

“All your running around is making me anxious. You can sit down here—on the other side, thank you—relax and watch this show or whatever.” Hank watched Conner take a seat, settling in with perfect posture as its hands folded neatly in it’s lap. Yeah, relaxed my ass, Hank thought. Hank went back to grumbling as he took a swig of his beer.

“You shouldn’t—”

“Don’t! Don’t you fucking start,” Hank snapped, continuing to drink. As the android showed no response, he went back to grumbling. “Plastic prick.”

The show was already nearing the end, so Hank knew that none of it would make sense to Connor (why would he care anyways?). And soon enough, credits began to roll, showing insignificant names and roles as Hank disinterestedly swirled the alcohol in his mouth.

“If I may,” Connor began to speak again. There was a pause, as if it was waiting for confirmation that Hank was willing to listen.

“Yeah, what?”

“Why do you hate androids so much? I’m only trying to help you, sir.” It was looking at him with a curious nod of its head, waiting patiently for an answer—that it wasn’t going to get. Hank let out a growl and almost slammed the beer into the side table.

“Lets make some things clear,” Hank started, brows pinched into a scowl. “First, I don’t want your help. I don’t need it. I wouldn't be in this situation if I’d just used a damned bullet to the head!”

Connor—the android looked concerned, leaning forward in its posture to make itself more unassuming.

“I’m sure that’s not—”

“And second,” Hank said, interjecting, “cut it out with this ‘mister’, ‘yes sir’ bullshit. It’s just Hank to you. To anyone.”

Straightening up again, Connor began to stare ahead intently, as if in deep thought. Or processing the information. Then, with a smile that could outshine the sunniest day in Detroit, Connor turned to him with and mustered up most positive tone it could emulate.

“Just Hank? I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

It wasn’t long before Hank found himself drifting off again.


	2. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is still learning to adjust to his new life with an android.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna drop this here and pretend like I didn't fall off the map for three months. :)
> 
> Truth is, all you lovely people who read and commented kept me going. Don't worry, I am not giving up on this story, no matter what it takes.
> 
> Disclaimer: It is important to remember that the views expressed by the characters in this story do not reflect the views of the author. Detroit: Become Human and its characters belong to David Cage, and not to me.

That night on the couch was nightmare after nightmare for Hank. Some were more vivid; the cold ceramic cushioned his body as an opaque bottle rolled from his grip to settle by a toddler’s tennis shoe. Blurs of red and blue battled in his living room, drowned by Sumo’s distressed cries—cries perfectly in sync with howling sirens. He groaned at the EMT, begging for five more minutes.

The other dreams were more vague abstract ideas—hopeless, perverted, depressing—which all still managed to deeply upset Hank. He’d jolt, suddenly awake, and then spend the next half hour coaxing himself back to sleep. When he’d finally doze off, the nightmares would start up again.

Finally spared some reprieve, his last dream was different than the others. He was in the city—no, above it, watching it like he were in the third person. It was raining lightly, specks of shimmering water clung to his unkempt beard. He simply floated in the air, breathing in the crisp, Detroit air, and the mouthwatering smell of breakfast.

_Wait, what?_

Roused from his restless sleep on his less than uncomfortable couch, the recognizable sound and smell of thin, fatty slices of bacon sizzling in a greased pan wafted from the kitchen. It awoke a distant memory: a bubbly, hyperactive kid psyching himself up over the idea of breakfast, shooting an uncaffeinated dad a hopeful smile. Like whiplash, his eyes snapped open, only to witness the scene before him.

“...What,” he gaped.

Connor, the android appointed to him by the hospital, was bustling about the kitchen, multitasking on levels only capable by a machine; not a hair or seam was out of line as it shuffled some eggs around with a spatula. After hearing Hank’s dumbfounded whisper, it turned it’s head to greet him with an obnoxious, pearly smile.

“Oh good, you’re awake! The supplies arrived early this morning while you were sleeping,” it turned away, continuing to scramble eggs. “I thought it would benefit you to have a healthy breakfast to start your day. I recognized your preference for simple, easy meals, so I hope you like scrambled eggs with a side of toast and bacon.” It flashed another smile, then motioned towards the dining table. “I have also prepared a glass of orange juice for you as well.”

True to word, putting the finishing touches on its beautiful display, Connor had set up what looked like a model breakfast, like the kind you’d see in ads, with the smells mingling together in an elegant dance on the table. Cautiously, Hank stood from the couch, still in a stained, sleeveless shirt and striped boxers, and approached the table. Tearing his gaze from the android, hands folded behind its back with one of it’s smug looks plastered on its face, he looked down at the plate of food.

He could have cried, it was so goddamn beautiful. Freshly made, it was still steaming. The eggs were golden, the bacon: crisp, but not burned. It all looked divine. The plate was apart of his fancier tableware, the ones he promised he’d only use for the right occasion—the set he hadn’t used in years.

Finally, after standing there dumbfounded, he stole a glance back at Connor in disbelief. “Well, we can add ‘don’t listen to directions’ do your list of to-dos. Or is that a feature?”

“I don’t follow.” Connor relaxed, hands now resting at its side.

“Yeah, you sure don’t.”

Its LED began to flicker yellow, its eyebrows furrowing. Thinking or processing memory files, probably.

“I remember. You had said, ‘I don’t need you to cook for me,’ though I did not comply because I had assumed it was not an actual order, and instead a contemptuous remark. Did I do something wrong? I can correct my actions to fit to your—”

It promptly stopped when Hank raised his hand.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Hank looked longingly at the meal, which was getting colder by the minute. “This one time’s okay, but I really can take care of myself. I’m not an old man, for fucks sake.”

Again with that dumb-looking smile. Connor nodded, and said, “No, you’re not old, quite the contrary. In today’s standards, you’re rather young. With proper care and nutrition, as well as modern medicine, you can live to double the age you are now and then some.”

Crossing his arms, Hank smirked.

“Alright, smart-ass. How old are you?”

“I was manufactured three months ago.”

“Three.”

“Months, yes.”

Hank mentally kicked himself. Right, android. A machine, not human, no matter how much it looked like your average, thirty year old man.

“Will you be eating, or should I throw this away?” Connor gestures to the plate, still piled with food.

“No!—no, uh, can’t let this go to waste, after all,” he jerks the chair back and claims the seat for himself. It had all been laid out for him. He picked up for fork and took a large scoop of the eggs, thrusting them into his mouth.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, muffled from a mouth full of food.

Hovering over his shoulder, Connor interposed between Hank and his breakfast, “I hope it is to your liking.”

Hank’s standards were in the fucking ground, so each bite of food was heavenly. This time, he actually tried not to cry. Hank couldn’t remember the last time he had something this good, since he only ordered take-out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“It’s fine,” he deadpanned.

When he had finally finished (which wasn’t long after), Hank brought his empty plate over to the sink and began to rinse it. Connor was still standing there idly as Hank washed the dishes. The silence was unbearable.

“So… how long are you staying here, anyways?”

Not skipping a beat, Connor turned to him and replied, “Until I am no longer needed.”

Hank dried a fork with a hand towel, massaging the silver metal with his thumb. He thought about its words, ‘no longer needed’. What was that supposed to mean anyways? Could be a month—could be years. The thought made him break out in a sweat.

“If it were up to me,” he began, still mindlessly drying the same utensil, “none of this would even be needed in the first place.”

“If it means anything, I’m sorry.” Connor’s eyes bore a hole into the back of his head, as if it were undressing him with its eyes. He froze mid-wipe as a shiver climbed up his back. With a scowl forming on his face, Hank abandoned the fork to look at Connor, who was putzing back and forth on his heels. Not a hint of emotion on its face. Hank could laugh.

“Well, no offense, but your apology doesn’t mean shit.”

It was still looking at him—god, would it stop looking at him? Its eyes were a glossy chocolate brown and eerily lifelike. Hank would never be able to know what was going on behind those eyes; it was impossible to know, it was just made up of data and circuits. Ironically, it reminded him of a character from an old sci-fi show he used to watch as a young boy. If that was even relevant today. The character, who funnily enough was an android, was a strong-willed, empathetic being, nothing remotely similar to the future they live in. The show, for all its praise, came out in 1987, going on to prove that the past only serves to make incorrect predictions about the future.

“Did something happen?”

“What?” Hank tensed, suddenly interrupted from his thoughts.

“Did something happen? In your past, did something happen that has made you distrusting of androids?”

As it asked that question, Hank clenched the towel in his fist, knuckles turning white, as the memories flooded back to the surface: the failed operation, the failed android who was assigned to the operation, his failed parenting—everyone had failed him. Including himself. 

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he growled through a set of gritted teeth.

Connor stepped forward, making a conciliatory gesture of lifting its hands in surrender. His smile continued to mock him.

“If I caused you any distress, I apolo—”

“—For fucks sake, shut up already! You’re so doting, and annoying, and stupid lookin’! And, and… fuck! I need some fresh air.” Hank draped the towel over the faucet, then withdrew to his room. Still grumbling, he began to rummage through his closet until he found some pants and a shirt. He threw a coat over his shoulders and a scarf around his neck as he made his way back to the living room. On the counter, he had left his keys and phone, which he pocketed into his oversized, leather coat.

“You’re heading out?” Connor gawked, stating this though as an observation and not a question.

Hank didn’t respond as he made a path towards the door.

“I will accompany you.”

At this, Hank stopped dead in his tracks, and pivoted around until he was facing the android who trailed closer than his own goddamned dog.

“Hold up. Cut the crap.” He made a ‘time-out’ symbol with both hands. “You are not coming with me. What will the neighbors say when they see I got a plastic freak? Not gonna happen.”

Maybe he was blowing this out of proportion, but he was pissed off! The ‘plastic freak’ didn’t even show any sign that it was offended by the slur and continued to approach him, despite Hank’s best efforts.

“My directive is that I be with you at all times,” it insisted.

“That’s funny.”

“It is?” It cocked its head to the side like a puppy. Hank wanted to throw up.

“Last I checked, you weren’t my fucking warden.”

It sighed (androids can do that now?) and approached Hank as though he were a toddler throwing a tantrum. Continuing to insult him, it lowered its voice in a way that only made Hank’s blood boil.

“That is not my directive. My directive is to be here to help you recover—”

“Fuck off with this ‘directive this, directive that’ shit! I’ll take the damn pills, check up with the shrinks! Just leave me alone for a goddamn second!” It was too late when he realized how loud he was yelling; he didn’t want to alarm the neighbors.

“Mr. Anderson—”

“— _Hank_.”

“Hank,” It quickly corrected itself then continued on as if he weren’t about to explode with rage. “studies have shown that the presence of another person—to talk to or just to be around—can alleviate the symptoms of mental illness.”

That’s rich, Hank thought, coming from an android. No, a machine. A computer with two legs. It wasn’t a person and it couldn’t help him. Hank crossed his arms and looked away from Connor’s pleading eyes.

“God-fucking-damnit.” If this was an argument, then he was losing. He signed the contract, he read the requirements. He knew what he was getting into, so why was he suddenly so opposed? Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hank sighed, “You’re not even a person.”

“Of course not,” it replied oh-so-matter-of-factly, straightening its back. “I am a machine designed to accomplish a task.”

“So I wonder what possessed you to think that you can help me.” Day two of this android shitshow and he was already falling apart.

“I will assist you in any way possible,” it responded promptly.

“...Any way possible?” Hank sneered.

“Yes. I can perform a variety of functions. Whatever you wish of me, Hank,” it said with a nod of its head, stressing his name, “is who I will try to be.”

“Does ‘leave me the fuck alone’ fall under any of those functions?” he asked, embellishing with air quotes.

Shaking its head, Connor took a step closer towards Hank. After closing the distance between the two, it began adjusting Hank’s collar. From this close, Hank could see the detailed work that went into its face. There were little creases that folded on its forehead when it focused intently at something, like fixing his collar, and freckles on the aforementioned forehead that flexed with the creases. On the side of its cheeks, there were small, barely noticeable dimples. However, when it smiled, the indents turned into something more pronounced, and more captivating.

“If there is a chance you may get hurt,” it said, Hank still enthralled with its bright smile, and finished adjusting his collar, “I’m afraid not.”

Hank let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Hypocrite,” he breathed out.

===

Through his phone, Hank had ordered a taxi. Soon enough, the automated vehicle pulled up in front of his house and he climbed inside with Connor close behind, typing vague directions for the taxi to head towards the inner city. Connor was a steady source of peace and quiet by his side the entire ride—until it wasn’t.

“Where are we headed?” it asked, breaking the taken-for-granted silence in the car.

Hank, not in the mood to participate in any conversation, just shrugged his shoulders and went back to looking out the window. The skyline had become a beautiful shade of gray, with clouds looming in the distance.

Connor persisted. “Do we have a destination in mind?”

“Cut it out with this ‘we’ business, alright?” Hank barked, tearing his head from the window to address Connor.

“Alright,” it said, with a sardonic tone and half a smile, “Do _you_ have a destination in mind?”

“You’re a sassy little android, arentcha?” Hank glowered at Connor.

Connor sank further into its seat under Hank’s judgemental glare. “If that displeases you, I can alter my personality.”

Just then, Hank felt painfully anxious. He couldn’t describe it, but the idea of something being able to change the fundamental part of themself seemed… unethical. Yes, they were just robots, but they talked and walked like breathing, human beings.

“Don’t do that,” he said forcefully.

“As you wish.” Connor continued on, as if it hadn’t brought up a terrifying subject.

“God, the fact that you can even do that—just— _bothers me_ ,” Hank spouted out, still perturbed.

Flashing yellow, the LED light attached to its head began to flicker with thought again. Hank made a mental note to ask about that thing later.

“Do I make you uncomfortable? Maybe it’s best that I alter—”

“—don’t,” Hank interrupted, face scrunched up and voice faltering, “just... fucking don’t bring it up again.”

“Okay. I won’t.” Fortunately, the conversation ended at that. Hank went back to scowling at the window, and Connor went back to sitting still, politely staring straight ahead.

Ever since manual-driven cars became outlawed in heavily populated areas, traffic had improved immensely. No more fender-benders followed by drivers storming out of their cars to yell profanities at each other. He remembered the days where traffic would be lined up for miles on highways, and how the lull of angered, blaring horns became an everyday occurrence during all hours of the day. When self-driving cars became commonplace, the more accidents decreased, until the government thought it seemed fit to attempt to remove drivers off the road completely. The younger generation didn’t even know how to drive an actual car these days, it made him sick how technology had taken full control of their lives. While it’s a good thing that there are less car accidents, driving was slowly becoming a lost art.

That being said, they were easily able to enter the city. Sunrays began to pierce through the parting clouds. Hank looked to his right, and saw Connor, half its face awash in an orange glow. Strangely enough, it was looking out the window, eyes darting about from the buildings to the herds of people commuting to work... as if it were also appreciating the view. Very strange.

When Hank turned back to his window, he saw the other street filled from corner to corner with people, something he noticed before Connor.

A group of protesters—more like rioters—had taken to the streets to protest androids. The group held a variety of people, though all had similar problems. Many were holding up signs expressing their discontent with the state of society. Signs like ‘WE WILL NOT BE REPLACED’ or ‘JOBLESS, HOMELESS, PENNILESS’. On the shoulders of her mother, a young girl carried a cardboard sign that said ‘PLEASE GIVE MY MOMMY A JOB’, handwritten in crayon.

Hank scoffed which caught the attention of Connor beside him. It swiveled its head to witness the crowd of protesters.

“Poor sods,” Hank said, looking to the crowd with contempt, “out here protesting for shit that will never change. No wonder they got no job, wasting time like this. Bet they’ll go straight home tonight and get their asses high off red ice.”

Connor regarded Hank, then began to lean towards him to be closer to his window. Just like before, Connor closed the distance between the two. Beads of sweat now forming on his temple, Hank became visibly uncomfortable. Without hesitation, it said, “Hank, you’re currently taking some time off from work, correct?”

That caught him off guard. What was the android trying to get at, that he should also be out there protesting with those jackasses? He tried to paint that image in his head, and almost scoffed.

“Yeah… that’s—” he sighed, “it’s complicated. Wasn’t my choice.”

Connor nodded, which only to Hank’s confusion. It pointed at the people protesting up and down the entire street, the roads blocked off for the event.

“It’s possible that these protesters didn’t have a choice as well,” it said. Those eyes, profound and deeply unsettling, scrutinized everything Hank did, from the quickening of his breath to his sporadic glancing to the side.

“Connor, you’re not getting all existential on me now, are ya?”

Removing its eyes from Hank, it pulled itself away from him and settled back into its seat, back to staring mindlessly out the front window.

“Just an observation.”

“Sure.” Hank swallowed, the sense of unease diminishing. Why the fuck does this keep happening? Hank thought, scowling at Connor. It was like it had to remind itself to start acting like a robot again, yet its face revealed no emotion. Hank sighed. Being paranoid was what kept him alive after all those years at the DCPD, so it was difficult to shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

In a world like this, he was not sure of anything anymore.

“...You know what?” Hank started suddenly, causing Connor to jerk its eyes towards him, “You’re right.”

“I am glad you think so, though I would support whatever you believe.” It put its palm to its chest, like a human would put their hand over their heart, as a gesture meant to show gratitude.

Summoning the control panel of the taxi, adding a bit more pressure than he should, he ordered the cab to come to a stop. The taxi pulled up to the front of a decrepit looking pub, the place practically coming apart at the seams. The taxi unlocked its doors, waiting for those inside to leave. At first, Hank didn’t move. He was still furious, and wanted to make that known.

“Yeah, you’re right. Right that you fuckers ruined everything. Those people,” he clenched his fists, watching his knuckles turn pale, “they’re protesting for shit that’ll never change—and the people, and you and your stupid company, are all to blame.”

Grinding his teeth, he turned his head to look at Connor. Not a hint of emotion. Just the same unfeeling android.

Finally, it responded, “I understand. If you need to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

“Gee. Thanks,” he said sarcastically. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he added, “Just stay here.”

He sighed, though he didn’t know what he was expecting. Opening the cab door, he was welcomed by his breath dispersing in a thick fog. Behind him, he heard the door to the passenger side open after him, which wasn’t surprising. As great as Connor was in household chores, ‘good listener’ didn’t seem to fall under one of its many functions, despite what it said.

“You’re going to drink? It’s still morning,” Connor said, shooting a disapproving look at the pub with confusion etched on its face. Upon closer inspection, no fogged breath came from Connor when it spoke.

“I need a drink,” Hank snapped back. 

Adjusting his coat, Hank stepped onto the curb and began to make his way towards the promise of alcohol. Connor walked beside him in his peripheral, but didn’t add anything else. The building had a sign hanging in the front, half of the paint already worn out without a care to fix it. While at night this place was a famous hangout, during the day it looked abandoned. However, the one thing that made him feel the most relieved was the reassuring sign plastered to the door. ‘NO ANDROIDS’. He could have wept with joy.

Before he could grab the door handle, the android stepped in front of him. Hank couldn’t say that it looked mad, but it certainly looked stern. The anger that was bubbling inside him now was steaming, a red flush filling his cheeks.

“Hank, these habits are unhealthy. I insist that you—”

In a blind rage, Hank gripped the front Connor’s jacket in both of his fists, lifting the android to its toes. The LED, which Hank had only seen turn yellow before, was now flashing a glaring red. Connor’s face stretched with fear, staring wide-eyed at Hank.

“Listen here, you cocksucker,” Hank spat, glaring down at Connor with a dangerous, low voice, “you’re not my fucking babysitter, you can’t control me. So get off my dick, and get out of my way.”

With one last contemptuous look, Hank unceremoniously shoved Connor onto the cold cement. It quickly clambered to its feet, as if it hadn’t just been assaulted. Hank put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, and pushed it aside.

It didn’t have anything to say as Hank slammed the door in its face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a bit on the nose, eh?
> 
> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you so choose! Any and all critique is welcome. You all and your beautiful comments keep me going. I've already got the third chapter started so I'll try not to disappear again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to add a comment on what you think or any errors so I can fix it. I would love to hear them!


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